


Rat Killer

by CaptainCombatBeard



Category: Dark Souls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCombatBeard/pseuds/CaptainCombatBeard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short story about a man's service to the rat king and the nuisance invaders he faces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rat Killer

I am a servant to the Rat King, and I kill rats. Once upon a time, he called me filthy and vile, and I was rightfully offended. This rat, however, seemed much more noble than the thirty that had just onset me in the prior chamber. He had the decency to ask me to leave, and not even try to kill me if I said no. Genuinely surprised by the self-proclaimed royalty, I half-heartedly agreed to join his dainty little covenant he proposed. I was more hurting for souls rather than dying servitude of a racist rodent, at the time. My few kills were normal fights. Two men with swords, and the bigger sword won. I enjoyed my spoils, however menial it was per victory.

But this one little prick, though. One little prick thought he was the fastest thing alive. He was slippery, too. I think he put away his weapons just to run right by me, and it worked. He got away. What a coward, running by a challenge like that. I wasn't even on the offense, just standing by the doorway, and he just sprinted by. Hoped those rats petrify him a dozen times over. When I went back to the bonfire for respite, I could barely contain myself when I saw his howling face bent backwards over a statue of a rat down the hallway.

The fights went on. I won some, I got killed once or twice, but most notably, more people tried running by. Runt had to have told all his friends how to do it too, but I wouldn't let them. Not again. The moment they came at me, I threw myself in their way and got them caught between me and a rat in the doorway. I pommeled them to death with my huge sword, and they were sent reeling back, rolling for a safe distance only to get swarmed by the rats they thought they could escape. As I started catching these cowards, I felt more and more satisfied in the bloodshed I was causing. I got a lot of souls, sure, plenty of lockstones, definitely, but I wanted to stay longer. 

And so I stayed. I served the Rat King, for the thrill of the fight, the catch. Then, when I spoke to the noble rat again, he spoke to me. “I've heard the rustling of chain and metal, my servant. The fools flee for their lives, scared of you and your highness. This pleases me greatly, but we must talk. I knowst thy mind, human; it reeks with purposeless bloodlust yet. While thine good deeds are forever welcomed, thou art far from the noble mind of a rat. 

“I understand that, in human cultures, the term 'rat' is used to describe the utmost conniving, mischievous scum of thy already disgusting race. The kind that use wily ways to bring havoc and dismay to others. Now, look upon thy targets; so many choose to run from the entrance to exit, scamper from safety to safety, pillaging what they want upon the grounds they trespass and getting away with it! Is this not familiar to thee, human? It is not we noble rats the blight of the world, it is they! They who run from thy righteous blade closer fit the image of the disgusting, mangly pest than we! And we noble rats, we fit the inquisitors, they who exterminate this garbage!

“Dost thou see, human? Dost thou feel a swelling in thine heart, a fury brewing? Do not be fooled, it is not the hatred of rats. It is the hatred of the insolent, the debauched, and the stupid. A hatred we both share. Go forth, my servant. Mayst thou be unharmed.”

The next fight I got into, I was fully stocked with the supplies my King sold me. It was no longer about material wealth in the slightest, but I hadn't been completely convinced on the king's speech just yet. And then that little prick came along. Yes, the very same. The slippery speed demon from my first battles. Before I had the chance to crack my fingers, the fool came blasting through the doorway, hooked around the flooded room and ran for the doorway.

Not today.

I rang my chime swiftly, and a tremendous gust of force exploded from me and slammed into his face. He was stopped in his tracks, but that wasn't enough. I wanted to see him squirm. I cast force again, and again, and again. Just as many times as he would feel it, just long enough for the rats to come along to feast. 

He hooked around the group of rats to get away from the wall of foes between him and his destination, and ran the opposite way around. I didn't move an inch. I waited for the cheeky bastard to do a lap before gesturing him to come near. I assume I insulted him deeply with this, for when he came around again, he was running right at me. Anticipating this, I whipped my zweihander from behind me and thrust into him. He flew back into the rats, out of breath and halfway dead. As he was struggling to get to his feet, I jingled my bells. The burst of force spun him around to face the creatures he so despised, the creatures that so despised him. Without a wince of regret nor hesitation, they all dove at him with their jaws, clamping onto his legs. He began to quake and tremor as he now had the challenge of staying upright under tremendous pain. He struggled to make a move, for his adrenaline to kick in, break free, and escape once more. 

The pommel of my greatsword crushed into his back, sending him to his knees. I gripped the foregrip of the zweihander, just behind the second set of quillons, and with tremendous hate, twirled around and plunged the sword into his back. 

He was dead, if not now then in seconds, but he deserved worse. As my sword rose, the phantom's body stayed impaled upon it – perfect. I took a step toward the small boundry in the middle of the room, with the holes in the floor. The sword was much harder to move now that there was a couple hundred pounds added on it, but with a good spin and a little greathammer technique, I threw his corpse off my sword and into the cracked portion in the center of the room. He skid toward the ledge, a leg clearing the ground. He was writhing, too much in shock to say any words. 

I caught him. I caught that little prick. Oh, how warm I felt. But I wasn't done yet. I grabbed a couple corrosive urns from my bag, and shouted to the shitter, “the King doesn't want to see your kind!” He struggled to pull himself away from the ledge, but every attempt was broken as each bottle of acid crashed upon his face. Every urn sent him wincing toward the ledge even more. There's something oddly enjoyable, in my case mouth watering, about hearing an enemy's things fall apart in rusted, corroded pieces. I had to have thrown ten, twenty urns at him before I got stopped.

When I noticed that he was holding onto the bricks for security, and that the bricks themselves were slowly shifting, I put down my throwing arm. There wasn't much more to be done, but there was one last thing I wanted to say. “You who trespass in another's domain, you who scavenge and flee, you who run from the sight of a real man, I ask you; who is the real rat here?”

Silence befell the murky cavern for a brief moment. Before any utterance of response could be made, a crumbling began to trickle from the masonry. The floor gave way, and the spirit fell, breaking into pieces upon the coffins and platforms below.

I am the servant of the Rat King, and there's nothing quite like the experience killing a rat.


End file.
